Fighting Doesn't Do Any Good
by Erin Cade
Summary: He only ever wanted to learn what it was like for someone to say no to him. Some lessons come with a price.


**Fighting Doesn't Do Any Good**

I'm away.

I feel the breeze blow my short, brown hair behind me, but I don't care. The wind feels good against my pale, sweating skin.

I'm running away.

It pains me to think about what everyone else would be doing right now. Fighting in a rumble with the Greasers.

Fighting, it didn't do any good. It never solved any problems, it never left us worse off then before, and it never left them any better off.

Everything always remained the same.

All it did was break bones, cause arguments, and even cause some serious injuries once in a while. I remember clearly Dave Hogan from a few years back. He died in a rumble.

It's always the same old, same old. The Socs: The west side rich kids, facing off against the east side Greasers, with their poor and dirty clothes, and greasy hair. Sometimes Tim Shepard's outfit and maybe even Brumly's gang would help them out.

It still never solved anything.

I look at the open road ahead of me, and the droopy sign that says, "You are now leaving Tulsa."

I let out a sigh of relief: I can't handle this anymore.

I know it may seem hypocritical of me: I've jumped a few greasers in my time. I was always pressured to do stuff like that from everyone else.

What I can't stand is that our seemingly pointless rumbles don't change or solve anything. That's the simple fact:

Greasers will always be greasers and Socs will always be Socs. There isn't anything anyone can do about it.

I never used to think that fighting would land someone seriously hurt, apart from the odd hospital experience and Dave Hogan. That all changed about a week back.

I remember it clearly: the most horrific night of my life. Me and the guys got drunk for some reason, it seemed like fun. Bob spotted two greasers in the park: it seemed like the perfect opportunity.

We wanted to get them back for what they did to our girl friends.

One of them even had his hands - or rather, his coat - on Marcia! _My _Marcia, my girl friend. That dirty grease was trying to pick her up, and I couldn't stand for that.

But my opinion about greasers changed that very night. That Cade kid - he killed Bob.

But in some weird, sick sense - I was glad. It taught Bob a lesson, a lesson that he'd wanted to learn all his life.

He'd wanted someone to say 'no'.

I remember Bob telling me about jumping the Cade kid a few months ago - and I felt sick to my stomach. The kid didn't deserve it. We were on _his _turf.

I look in my rear view mirror. No one in front of me, no one behind me. It's just me and my car, speeding along the highway out of Tulsa.

I hate to think what everyone is like right now. I know Marcia is beside herself. She was the first - well apart from that Curtis kid - who I told I was running away.

I look at my watch. The rumble's started. I try and block thoughts of the Greasers and Socs beating themselves senseless.

Fighting hasn't done anyone any good. It got Bob killed, and the Cade kid is in hospital, last time I heard.

All this fighting, I guess it was from enjoyment. I suppose that the Greasers and Socs enjoy seeing each other hurt, seeing each other suffer.

I want to know why. I want to know why they like hurting each other, seeing each other bleed.

Why must the Greasers and Socs be at war all the time? As I've heard Cherry Valance say to Marcia once, things are rough all over.

I know it doesn't have to be this way. I know that they don't always have to hate each other. But I can't do anything about it. I know one kid who feels the same way - Ponyboy Curtis. But we still can't change anything.

I take deep breaths as an image of Bob comes to mind - or rather, an image of his body.

I only took a quick glance at my best friend's body, before running away, but that was enough for it to be etched in my mind permanently.

Bob didn't deserve to die, although he did deserve the lesson. But that's no way to teach someone.

Bob was reckless, far beyond your average Soc. He was daring, not afraid of anything. Far so for his own good. That's what got him killed.

The Cade kid finally taught him that valuable lesson - he said no to Bob.

That's all Bob was ever looking for. Sometimes, he would get drunk on purpose just so his parents would yell at him, ground him, _something_. But they never did. They would always blame themselves for Bob's wrong doings - and that frustrated the hell out of Bob.

I'm nearing a sign, although it's too far away for me to read. I hope it's far away from Tulsa.

I think about the rumble. I've never been to one, so I wouldn't know. But Bob's always told me about them. I imagine all my supposed 'friends' fighting harder for the sake of Bob.

It still won't matter who wins. It will probably be the Greasers, with the combined efforts of Tim Shepard's outfit and the Brumly Boys.

Even if they win, all they're left with are scars and battle wounds. They won't be any better off.

The sign says I'm nearing Broken Arrow. That's better than nothing, I think as I pull into a motel. It's getting late and I need somewhere to stay.

I book a room, and take off my shoes as I get into bed.

I can't sleep for a while. I keep having nightmares, like I have every night since last week. It's too soon _not _to have nightmares about Bob.

About his dead body just _lying _there, surrounded by a pool of his own blood.

There lay Bob, my best friend since first grade. The one who never really paid attention in school, but only really ever wanted to be taught one lesson.

Bob only wanted someone to say no to him, and he finally got his wish.


End file.
